


Ideally Speaking

by SensationalSista



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-it fic, Fluff, Happy Ending, s5e10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:58:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7152125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensationalSista/pseuds/SensationalSista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hope her and her Machine and Shaw have a nice happy little family.. with Bear.. and Shaw’s twins!” –Amy Acker, on her ideal ending for Root</p>
<p>Fix-it Fic: Post  5x10</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ideally Speaking

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try out a fluffy fix-it fic with this prompt (I always thought it was funny how Amy had stayed in character and said "Shaw's twins" instead of "Sarah's twins"). I wanted to see 5x11 before hand though, so here it is, late to the party. Like all my fics, they're probably way longer than they need to be, but I just like to cover my loose ends. Anyways, hope you enjoy yet another take on a Shoot happy ending :)

Amber eyes fluttered open, darkness quickly illuminated by a searing white light which slowly faded to soft golden; heat radiating in a streak across her cheeks. Everything was still, quiet, warm..

Yet, then why was her heart pounding in her aching chest?

Why were her temples throbbing in response to an uncontrolled cardiac rhythm?

Why did her lungs heave out a breath of air as if she had inhaled nothing but toxicity?

A blink, shrouding the brightness in darkness for the most transient of seconds. But it was enough.

The visions appeared before her eyes, whizzing around in incomprehensible blurs. The emotions came next, ceasing the single exhale already escaping her lips as her throat tightened; everything crashing down and washing over her like a tsunami.

The agony burning through her flesh. Fear of the gunpoint grabbing her throat. The sacrifice. Burning. Her breaths ragged. Hot, searing pain.. Icy, cold numbness. Her voice, her sight; beyond human capabilities. Her friends. Harold’s path to darkness. Reese’s legacy fogging into nothingness. Lionel’s parting. Sameen’s desolate expression; soul screaming through abysmal eyes and bone chilling neutrality uttered in every word. The sociopath’s unshed tears only finally spilling over in the cloak of the world’s last moments at hearing her voice over a phone..

Root sat bolt upright abruptly; tears sharply stinging in her eyes as she fought to breathe. The blurs of images whirled and bombarded her mind’s eye. She felt something akin to nausea as bile began to rise in her throat at the dizzying display. Her mind twisted, turning inside out on itself.

She threw her hand down to her side, desperate for grounding the world as it spun around her. And it began to slow, the tactile information giving so much unappreciated comfort.

Her death-like grip of the fabric, resting beside her thigh, slowly loosened. The pads of her fingers rubbing the silken material between them. It was so cool to the touch, contrasting the heat of the room; soothing, yet surreal.

Her eyes, which had unknowingly closed over the course of her spell, slowly opened once more; wide and confused as they took in her location. Golden sunlight streamed through white wooden blinds hanging down over a porch door. The spacious, open bedroom was equally basked in orange and gold colors. She scanned her eyes down, over the silver glossed sheets of her bed; the shimmering material like an expansive sea across the king size bed in which she sat.

_Where am I?_ She brought a clammy hand to her forehead, feeling the beads of sweat condensing and beginning to cascade down her ashen face. _How am I even here? I’m.. I’m dead.._

Root’s ear suddenly picked up a sound, head immediately turning to the side to attempt localizing the minute disturbance.

The softest padding of footsteps drew her attention to a partially cracked door at the front of the room, seeming to lead into the rest of _where ever_ this place was. As she waited, her thudding heart jumped into her tightened throat. The small form, clad in pure black tank top, jeans and boots, carefully slunk her way backwards through the crevice; careful to shut the door ever so quietly. At last, the small woman dipped her head against the door, seeming to lean her forehead against the wooden material.

Root felt the disbelief echo in her voice as she couldn’t contain her excited, and bordering breathless, cry of “Sameen!”

Shaw suddenly flinched visibly, shoulders prickling, instantly looking over her shoulder and catching Root’s form seated upright in the bed; sheets pooling around her pajama covered body. In haste, she spun swiftly on the spot, frantic look in her chocolate eyes; pearly white teeth bared and gritting together harshly. A loud, static hiss escaped her as she brought her finger up to her lips, action meant to cease the disturbed silence in the room.

A long moment passed between the two; air heavy and still before, finally, Shaw relaxed her stance in the slightest. Shaw’s hands fell atop her hips as she proceeded to drift quietly across the tile floor in her socks, hard stare never falling from her features.

Root’s glowing eyes followed her beloved petite Persian’s every movement; from her boot clad toes to her chiseled face, eyes lastly processing on Shaw’s expression as she drew nearer. Although her confusion from before was still bemusing her, Root could not help her brows furrowing in concern upon seeing the deep bags beneath those precious dark chocolate orbs. Shaw looked absolutely exhausted, similar to how they looked right after she had escaped from-

The zing of frost that stabbed her heart caused her breath to hitch. Samaritan.

_Is she alright? She hasn’t been harmed again, right?_ Her mind screamed for her to ask, but she was still too shell shock to believe that this woman was in front of her. Or rather, how she herself was in front of Shaw at all.

Questions upon questions began to pile up as she desperately tried to piece together where, how and _who_ she even was anymore. She wasn’t one to shy away from the science-fiction capabilities of the time at which they lived. Was she only drugged to the point of seemingly faking her own death, lost in a fog of unconsciousness until the drugs cleared after god knows how long? Could her mind have been downloaded from the Machine into a new person’s physical shell? Is this like Ground Hog’s day and she was given a second chance to re-live the end of the world and she had only just gotten Shaw back?

Root blinked, startled as the ex-ISA agent breathed heavily.

“Thank god you’re finally up.” Shaw’s near whispered voice lacked the accompanied tone of concern, typically associated when a person expressed such a sentiment. Or, maybe Root was still too lost in her trance like state, recalling her visions of how she had imagined Shaw to react with when faced with distress.. But this was quite the opposite of concerned. It was actually spoken rather sarcastically, characteristic of Shaw but not for the situation, throwing Root for even more of a loop. “I swear, I’m so pissed that you sleep like the dead.”

Root blinked slowly, brow furrowing deeply. “But I.. I was dead..” she muttered quietly, more so under her breath to herself, still sifting through the images in her head as she watched Shaw’s approaching body.  Now, actually saying the words aloud to herself sounded positively absurd, and Shaw’s expression certainly added to her feeling of embarrassment.

The ex-ISA agent cocked a brow skywards as she stood in front of the still seated brunette. “I swear to god, Root. It is _too_ early for any of your cryptic nonsense.” The harsh whisper was low, fatigue weighing heavily on every syllable. “I hope your dreams sucked, by the way.”

At that, the images had been sifted and appropriately sorted in her mind. And then reality struck her like a delayed train, her shoulders falling with a mixture of relief and pure elation. 

Root let out a breathy laugh. And as simple as that, it was all merely a dream. It was a god damned _dream_! Oh thank The Machine!

“I did have a dream, and trust me, it sucked.. it was so realistic, I just..” Her voice was mumbled and soft; reflective, yet hesitant.  

She looked at her hands now folded delicately on her lap, amber eyes locking on the glittering gold band adorning her left ring finger; a swell of familiar emotion bubbling in her chest at the sight. Eventually she looked back up at Shaw, knowing that she was revealing all sorts of emotions behind her evocative eyes and that such display was more than likely going to make the sociopath uncomfortable. But, whatever. Root lightly shook her head, brown locks falling down her shoulders in waves. “It picked up right after the night you came back to me.. After you had escaped from Samaritan..”

For the first time in this morning meeting, Shaw looked rather bitterly amused. “Haven’t heard you say that name in a while,” came the low rumble of her quiet voice. Root watched the smallest, proudest, of quirks rise in Shaw’s lips at the comment. Amusement evident.

Root, feeling a weight rising from her chest, began rambling what specific details she could recall of the dream that was slowly slipping away from her thoughts. “I saved Harold, taking one too many bullets right after a shoot out.. I died and then I..” She trailed off with a silly laugh as her dream took a large lurch in the sci-fi direction. “The Machine took my voice, and eventually my name. It had all my memories and knew my mannerisms up to 99.6% accuracy. It was like I _became_ the Machine. I could see it all playing out before me. The fighting, the deaths.. watching all of you as you finally took down Samaritan.. no matter the cost..”

Although Root trailed off into silence following her detached description of the perils she had witnessed in her mind’s eye, Shaw simply huffed out a breath. Or perhaps it was more akin to a chuckle? She gently sat on the mattress, arms locked behind her and propping her up; the only indication of the sociopathic woman’s more endearing emotions was that of a mildly closer than normal personal space bubble. Root knew that, and she welcomed Shaw’s comfort and ease.

“You as the Machine? An all powerful ASI god?” She lulled her eyes to the side catching Root’s innocent stare with incredulous amusement. “Well doesn’t _someone_ have a bit of a complex, huh?”

Root dropped her stare into a glare, insult evident across her features as her voice raised loudly in rebuttal. “Hey! I do not-!”

“Shit, Root! Quiet!” A hand was smacked over her mouth in an instant as she let out her incredulous outburst. With the force of the action came Shaw’s body falling on top of her, successfully pinning the unprepared woman beneath her; lips fully muffled by the agent’s calloused hand.

Amber eyes stared in confusion at the small woman, who suddenly looked very very aggravated. But all of the questions coming across in Root’s expression needn’t be answered by Shaw. The wailing siren of poignant screams answered the question for her.

And finally Root understood why her little ninja was being extra quiet on her feet and dampening her typically brash actions. Root smirked as she recalled their current mission, or rather, the byproduct of completing said mission.

“Ugh, they were finally asleep!” Shaw groaned in agony pulling away from Root roughly, sitting back on knees while straddling the lithe woman’s hips. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she jabbed a finger at Root’s chest. “It is _your_ turn to take care of those little shits!”

Root smirked.

A jaunt down to sunny Florida had been expected to be one of their rather more pleasant assignments. Find their numbers, apprehend a perpetrator or ten, hack into a wireless security network, lift some encrypted documents, shoot some kneecaps; it was a standard issue expectation.

However, when the numbers turned out to be a foster parent and social worker working as cohorts in an illegal child labor con, things took to a different turn of events. At least, the ending of their mission had, once the numbers had been taken care of of course.

 “You were the one that didn’t trust the new social worker that came on site,” she said, making a note of the memory she had of the crime scene’s conclusion. She remembered now; both women standing in front of the run down shack, two baby bassinettes at their feet, and a man coming forward asking to take custody of the rescued infants while he took over for his ex-colleague’s case. 

The brunette woman smirked as she recalled Shaw’s dark untrustworthy face, as if she’d be nuts to rely on this man, before snatching up both cradles in her hands and marching away into obscurity of her cover identity. The Machine had not voiced any concern with Shaw taking this unexpected lead, so Root had no qualms about it either.. that is until they were faced with the gravity of what two very inexperienced caregivers would have to go through while taking care of newborn children. So they found themselves here.

Seeming to forcefully ignore Root’s previous observation, the petite woman growled. “Why hasn’t your all-knowing Machine found a solution yet? I’m sure it’s run a billion simulations of how we can get rid of these things by now.” She defiantly crossed her arms over her chest.

“A billion is a gross over-estimation, Sameen,” Root cooed sweetly, tilting her head to the side as she stared upwards at her irked lover. “But, she has been rather quiet on this for some reason,” she mused airily as Shaw grunted ironically. Root locked eyes with Shaw’s indigent stare, doting smile gracing her lips. “Harold’s looking into the New York system and hopefully we can unload them once we get home. But until we get them appropriately set-up in Foster Care, they’re your twins, Sweetie.”

The door to the opposite room was pushed open and the large police dog came galloping in, jumping into bed beside Root, and finally burying his head under the pillow with a whine. Shaw reached out to console the dog beneath the pillow, finding the spot between his ears and rubbing it with gentle soothing circles.

“I know your pain, boy,” she mumbled with a trace of sympathy tingeing her tone. Root almost snorted at Shaw’s display of over-dramaticism.

The wails had only begun to grow in volume and intensity; decibels breaking such a high threshold of loudness Root almost thought she could hear the sound through her right ear. Impossible, of course, but _damn_ the noise was loud. Her hands finally came up to her head, covering her ears.

“How on earth did I sleep through this last night?” she wondered, more so to herself, although her eyes were still gazing into Sameen’s.

The compact Persian tossed her head to the side in a feigned coy look, sarcastic smirk on her lips as her eyes blazed. “I don’t _know_ , Root,” she said through clenched teeth, smile still stretched in place. “How _did_ you?” And in a blink of the eye, the face dropped back into Shaw’s usual resting bitch face, as Fusco had so lovingly described it.

Then Shaw roughly through herself off of Root, feet landing with an ungraceful and loud thud. She began to stalk back toward the door to the hotel room’s living area.

A minute after, Root finally willed herself to stand and followed Shaw’s path into the small living area. The small agent had scooped the two bundles, pink and blue respectively, into her arms and was proceeding to gently bounce her arms as she walked slowly around the room; the whole act seemingly instinctual to the typically stone faced and overall stone cold woman.

Root leaned against the door frame, adoring eyes following every little detail of the scene playing out in front of her, letting reality wash over her once again like the world’s most intoxicating pleasure. She could not help but let the soft breath of reprieve pass, near silently, from her lips as their current moment replaced all the residual delusions of her nightmare.

Shaw was right about what she had said minutes ago regarding their old ASI nemesis.

The fall of Samaritan had happened so long ago.. Nearly 2 years by this point, _at least_. So much had happened in that span of time. Each and every one of their lives changed, and thankfully, they were changed for the better. Everyone’s ‘here and now’ was a long time coming, but it was so worth the heartache.

Team Machine still worked the numbers, sometimes with other groups that the Machine had deemed as assets. It was as if they were destined for this job for as long as possible. Unsung heroes, taking pride in every crime they stopped, every criminal they took down, and all of the lives in which they had made an impact on.

But there was certainly more downtime, if anyone could call it that. Without Samaritan’s dire, ever encroaching breach of security and threat to human kind, the stress they battled with felt akin to that of the average working man; staying late in the office, preparing his last minute paperwork for the most important presentation in his company’s history sort of stress. It was a nice and much appreciated reprieve from the lives they had been living.

Never the type to shy away from danger in any situation, and more likely to be _seeking it_ out, Root knew that even Shaw was enjoying the slightly more languid take on their recent lives. Although, Root also knew that Shaw would never admit such things. It was all through her keen perception and knowledge of the Persian woman that Root could accurately claim that interpretation.

At some point during Root’s reverie, the shorter woman had managed to settle herself on the couch; legs splaying across the cushions haphazardly as she nestled herself into the crook of the plush arm. The whimpers coming from her arms were slowly calming. Even Bear had reintroduced himself to their room, jumping up on the couch beside the tired Shaw.

A doting grin spread over Root’s lips as her ear caught hold of quiet hushing noises, obviously coming from Shaw’s mouth. This tiny, sociopathic, yet secretly caring woman would never cease to amaze her with all of her layers buried deep beneath that neutral and emotionless fortress of a mind. All those feelings, volume turned way down, yet always apparent and swimming to the surface when Shaw called for them; willing herself to turn the volume up just the slightest.

Pleased enough with watching and listening to the adorable sight for 10 lengthy minutes, Root stepped around the couch and toward the hotel bar, taking just a few short minutes to boil some tea in the complementary hotel stash. Finally, with warm cup in hand, she spun back around and quietly made her way around to the front of the couch, eyes never straying from the body, clad in pitch black, draped over the plush cushioning. Carefully, she nestled herself into the large chair across the oak coffee table. A blissful smile graced her lips.

Within those short 5 minutes of tea prep, Shaw’s head had fallen back against the arm rest, mouth parted with rather rasped breathing; dark rings beneath her tired eyes still prominent and evident of her weariness and sleep deprivation. The two, now silent, bundles were calm while cuddled up against Shaw’s chest. It was Root’s favorite part of the assassin’s body, so she understood the infants’ contentedness to lie there too. And then there was that large Belgian Malinios whose muzzle rested overtop of Shaw’s thigh while his massive canine body squeezed into the only remaining space on the sofa.

Root found herself wondering how she had ever become so extraordinarily lucky to have such a beautiful, albeit unique, Fairytale ending. With the life she had led, she was sure that she would meet an untimely end; never be one destined for domesticity, for family politics, over-cooked meat and monogamy. While clutching her porcelain cup with both hands, her fingers danced distractedly over the gold band on her left ring finger; eyes admiring the gold sparkle coming from Shaw’s own finger across the room.

_/Are you content with this outcome?/_

For a moment, Root’s breath hitched. It was Her voice. It was once more exactly how she remembered it; the Machine which she’d come to know. Not the Machine which she herself had.. _become_. She breathed a soft sigh, answer never more true.

“Absolutely.”


End file.
